Sail With Me
by LittleKy
Summary: There's been some weird shit going on inside of Peter Quill's head. Mind you, his life has been by no means normal- but seeing and hearing things that other people can't is definitely a first for him. (Or: Where Ego makes an earlier entrance. Yondu hates that jackass.)
1. Blame it on the alcohol

**AN:** My first ever Guardians fic! Let me know what you all think so far!

* * *

 **Chapter 1** **: Blame it on the alcohol**

There's been some weird shit going on inside of Peter Quill's head.

Mind you, his life has been by no means normal- but seeing and hearing things that other people can't is definitely a first for him.

No, he's pretty sure that this _extra_ weird shit all started that one night at the bar; the same night that the entire Ravager crew had spent in drunken celebration because, by the skin of their teeth, they'd pulled off a heist that would leave them sitting pretty for a long while. Seeing this as good of a reason as any to get wasted, they'd piled into a bar on the next inhabited planet they'd come across, all crowing over their mugs and dramatically embellishing their own roles in the victory. The merry mood had even rubbed off on their captain- he'd busied himself by smirking wolfishly over his bottle at two women, who'd 'ooh-ed' and giggled at Yondu Udonta's every word.

Peter himself had drifted away from the crowd towards the pretty, redheaded and Xandarian bartender. Though she'd fondly indulged in his brazen attempts to flirt, he was fairly certain she was uninterested, if her scrunching her nose up at nineteen-year-old Peter and stating that he was 'just cute as a button' were any sort of indicators.

Growing disheartened in his attempts, he nearly didn't notice when another woman, an Aedian, stepped quietly into his line of vision. Peter turned from the amused bartender to flash the newcomer his most charming of grins. "Heeey, pretty lady," he slurred.

Well, wait... was this new gal _actually_ pretty? He couldn't honestly tell, being that A) he was currently so plastered that he'd nearly shed some tears while telling the bartender about his goldfish, named Fat Boy, that died thirteen years ago and B) the new gal in question was mostly obscured by a dark hood. So, yeah, Peter couldn't even really see her. Ah, well. These mysterious types were usually hot by standard, right?

The Aedian's eyes were currently roaming over Peter's face. "You are Peter Quill?" she inquired in a hush. Peter's grin faltered as he squinted to better focus on her. A voice of reason spoke amidst his other happily drunken thoughts, warning that this chick he'd never seen before probably _shouldn't_ know his name.

An alternatively more satisfying thought occurred to him, and his grin brightened once more.

"Ah-ha! So you've heard of me, huh? Legendary outlaw 'n all that, I suppose. I'd prefer it, darlin', if you called me _Star-Lord_."

She didn't, to his disappointment. Actually she never replied at all.

Rather she reached out with a slim hand, her fingers cool as they touched the center of Peter's forehead.

A strange, jolting sensation like electricity traveled throughout his body, starting from her touch and shooting right down to his fingers and toes. Peter stifled a yelp of surprise, dramatically leaning back and away from her hand, gripping onto the bar's edge to keep himself mostly upright. "The _hell_ , lady!" he exclaimed, eyeing the freaky lightning woman warily.

As if her job here were done, the Aedian withdrew her hand, tucked it carefully away into her long cloak, and moved to leave. Then she hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to meet Peter's eyes once more. "You have questions. Worry not, child. He will be in touch with you soon." And with that most ominous and unhelpful of explanations, she vanished, slipping with ease back into the crowd of rowdy drunks from which she came.

"Uhhh," was all Peter managed, his racing heart sobering him up for just a moment. His body continued to tingle throughout. "O-kay?"

"Hon?" the bartender asked, leaning over the bar to furrow her brows at him. "You doin' alright, kid?"

"Pfft, _kid_ ," Peter attempted airiness, hoisting himself to his feet and trying to ignore the newfound shakiness of his legs. "I'm no kid, sweetheart. I'm… whoa."

Colors were suddenly bleeding together, and the images around him were morphing oddly. Within seconds, instead of the rundown bar, he saw… he saw planets and a beautiful, endless expansion of stars, all at his fingertips.

As quickly as they came they were gone again, leaving him staring down at the comparably mundane bar stool he'd been gripping tightly.

" _Whoa_ ," he breathed again.

"Hon, I'm thinkin' you should probably go and grab your father," the bartender advised, motioning behind him with her chin. "Really. You're not lookin' too good."

Peter blinked at the word 'father'- as if this entire situation could get any more confusing- but when he looked over to the table in question, he only scoffed. "That's… that's Yondu. He ain't my-"

"Quill! Oi!" cried Tullk, one of the burly Ravager crewmates, swinging by to bump shoulders with Peter as his drink sloshed messily over his mug. "Come back over 'n join the celebration, boy. We're 'bout to make a toast!'

"Right," Peter said dazedly. He mustered up a farewell grin that was meant to reassure the worried bartender, hurrying to trail off behind Tullk before she could say anything more.

Later, as the toast neared its end, Peter caught Yondu's eye. The captain gave him a nonchalant once over and the quickest of winks, swigging his drink before turning his lazy focus back onto his enamored women. Peter shot a half smile in return. He was good. No need to dwell on the weird encounter if he'd left it unscathed, right? He decided it was alright to momentarily push the strange incident out of mind.

As he partied on through what was left of the night, and as further drunkenness ensued, he found that wasn't all that hard to do.

* * *

… Especially when, as Peter learns the next morning, 'further drunkenness ensued' had apparently consisted of Peter on top of a table, arm in arm with Kraglin and belting out a very heartfelt rendition of 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody'. Kraglin had left at some point to jump down and join in on a bar fight. Peter would have gladly helped, had he not begun to double over mid-song and puke his brains out onto the poor, unsuspecting inhabitants of the chairs below.

Who happened to be Yondu and both of his bimbos.

So, seeing as more immediate concerns were at hand- like avoiding Yondu for the remainder of the day, as Peter was sure his grumpy old captain was none too happy with Peter's most recent of inadvertent cock-blocking methods- he might've been happy to write off the encounter with the Aedian as simply a drunken hallucination, or episode, or whatever. _Might've,_ had the incident in the mess hall the next morning not occurred.

He's lounging back in a chair and nursing his hangover headache, idly bullshitting in the mess with a small portion of the crew as they all listen to Kraglin regale the tale of the bar fight, when Peter's vision begins to blur out again. There's no outstanding imagery to behold, this time, but the voices around him muffle, sounding as though they're underwater.

He suspects maybe he's on the verge of passing out (which, great, fainting in front of the guys is the _last_ thing he needs) but then he hears one voice, clear as day, booming through the less distinguishable ones:

" _Peter_."

All other noise is fading away completely. Whether this is simply due to the crew's conversation dying down, or Peter seemingly losing all function, he couldn't say. Through the blurry haze that is his vision, he thinks he sees Kraglin turning to face him. His mouth is moving. Peter blinks rapidly, attempting to clear up the fuzzy image of the first mate in front of him.

" _Peter, my boy_." There's the voice again- but the words don't match Kraglin's mouth, nor does it even _sound_ like Kraglin.

"… Pete? Hell-ooo, anybody home?"

 _That_ does, however. Peter's vision swims back into focus and he feels his ears go _pop_. Kraglin and the other crew are all staring at him.

"Why d'you look like you're 'bout to keel right over, Quill?"

Peter gives some halfhearted, snarky reply guaranteed to send the other men either chuckling or rolling their eyes and, most importantly, off his back. Because as they jump to a new topic, he isn't listening. He's suddenly remembered something the Aedian in his 'hallucination' said, which kind of cements that that had certainly _not_ been a hallucination:

"Worry not, child. He will be in touch with you soon."

 _Peter, my boy._

Ah, shit.


	2. Blame it on my ADD, baby

**Chapter 2** **: Blame it on my ADD, baby**

As the inevitable can be held off for only so long, it's a few hours later that Peter runs into one displeased and notably jacketless Centaurian.

"Quill, you little _shit_. Pain in my ass Terran," Yondu gripes, catching Peter swiftly by his collar when he fails to sneak past the captain on the bridge. "Got my best jacket reekin' of goddamn Terran barf! I thought you knew how to hold your liquor, boy!"

"Hey, man, usually I've got a gut of absolute steel," Peter defends, wiggling against Yondu's grip. "How else could I have survived all those freaky alien foods you forced down my throat growin' up?"

"Oh, _boohoo_. Now the boy's cryin' about me keepin' him fed and alive." Yondu releases Peter's shirt with a yank. "You're one ungrateful li'l barf bag, you know that?"

"Yeah, kept me alive after _almost killing me_ ," Peter grumbles as he fixes his collar. "Some of that junk gave me severe allergic reactions!"

Yondu's jaw twitches. "I'd like to know how in the hell I was supposed to know what a Terran can or can't eat?" he demands, indignant. "Ain't never had one before! 'Sides, we got you to the doc and fixed you right up after you started turnin' that funny purple color, didn't we?"

Peter blows air into his cheeks to cut off his own retort; he knows how to pick his battles. Usually. "Sorry 'bout the jacket," he says instead. He even has the decency to try and look sheepish. "I'll clean it."

"You bet'cha will," Yondu affirms. "And know what else you'll do?" He shoves a full, sudsy bucket smack dab into Peter's chest. The big jerk must have been armed and ready to run into Peter all day. "Communal bathrooms. _All_ week long. Go on, now." He flashes a grin, all jagged teeth and crimson eyes, before continuing his stride down the bridge and away from Peter. "You ain't the only unlucky bastard that blew his chunks, but the rest managed to aim 'em into them bathrooms."

"Sweet Jesus." With a heavy sigh, Peter grudgingly turns his heel to head towards said bathrooms. He supposes he'll count himself lucky (well, not _lucky_ per say, but you know; it's all relative) that his Smurf of an overlord hadn't even been all that angry. Bathroom cleaning duty ain't exactly a Christmas present but, in the past, Yondu has been ticked enough to ban Peter to the ship come mission time, or threaten to have his _Milano_ locked up and away.

Not that Yondu will be able to hold those kinds of things over his head forever. Peter swears that, someday, he'll leave this place. (He tried once already when he was sixteen, but it only ended with Peter groveling back at the Ravager's doorstep. Mud-soaked, tired and hungry, with an entire small planet out for his blood. He's taken the whole experience as a subtle sign that maybe he's not _quite_ ready to head off on his own.)

He also swears that there aren't many smells in the universe more putrid than that of a communal Ravager bathroom. In some unspoken pact, much of the crew enjoy remaining sweaty, unbathed and sometimes flea-ridden for as long of stretches as possible. And then they honestly wonder why the ladies flee when a gaggle of Ravager men come marching through. Sure, there's the intimidation factor to consider, and the fact that the crew is generally horrifying to look at, but Peter's convinced it's mostly the smell.

Peter lets the bucket drop to the ground with a _thud_ , making a face as he discovers that Yondu certainly hadn't been lying.

He's on his hands and knees, elbows deep in the soap bucket, when another unmistakable scent wafts over. It overrides both the 'Ravager' stench and the strong chemical smell of the soap. And Peter absolutely freezes.

Meredith Quill had loved to bake. Especially pies. Her best, and Peter's favorite, was her apple pie.

As years have passed on, it's terrified Peter to realize that there are little things about his mother he simply cannot remember. But one memory he recalls with crystal clear clarity is that of him bursting through the front door after his days at school, warmed by the sight of his mother, who sang in the kitchen with the windows wide open. The smell of her baking is safely embedded in his mind. So safely, in fact, that there's little debate that he's smelling it _right this second._

He tosses the sponge and rocks back on his heels, glancing about the room wildly. He doesn't know what he's expecting to see- Meredith Quill, holding an apple pie in the middle of a spaceship bathroom?- but suddenly it's of utmost importance that Peter find the source.

He jumps to his feet and hurries out through the door, where he runs smack dab into Horuz.

"Ey! Where's the fire, Quill?" Horuz asks, apprehensively eyeing Peter's soapy arms and wide eyes.

"Do you smell that?!" Peter exclaims, peering over Horuz's shoulder excitedly.

"Er... the smell of about a dozen men's vomit? Yeah. Real rank."

"No, no." Peter grabs the older man by the shoulders and turns him around, ignoring Horuz's annoyance with being manhandled. " _That_. Do you smell that amazing smell?"

"I smell puke, Quill. Ain't nothin' 'amazing' about that."

Of course Horuz wouldn't have a reference to what Peter's talking about. There's no apple pie in space, after all. Peter releases him and continues towards the scent, only to realize with horror that it's fading.

"Ah, no. No, no!" Peter halts, tries another direction, and then backtracks towards the restrooms, but as quickly as it arrived, any trace of his mom's baking is gone. He looks around desperately, trying to determine if there's been anyone who's randomly walked by with a baked goods cart or something, but there is only Horuz, scratching his head at Peter from the restroom entrance.

"Can't say I know what you're on about, Quill."

"I don't know. Nothing, I guess," Peter says, feeling both puzzled and crestfallen. His shoulders droop. "I'll, uh, I'll finish up later. I think I need a break."

He doesn't really know what he'd expected, nor what on earth he has to feel so disappointed over.

But he doesknow that in the decade that Meredith Quill has been gone, even as he's prayed out to her, even as he's listened to her favorite songs over and over and _over_ again, never before has Peter had such a tangible sense of his mother being _right there._

* * *

"Do you believe in ghosts, Kraglin?"

Kraglin doesn't look up at the question, too invested in picking out something stuck between his crooked front teeth. He's squinting at his reflection off of a cooking pot being used as a makeshift handheld mirror. "There ain't no such thing as ghosts." He stops mid-pick, eyes trailing to Peter, suddenly looking wary. "Why? Somethin', uh... 'ghost-like' didn't happen anywhere 'round here, did it?"

"Nah." Peter snuffs a smile at Kraglin's poorly disguised fear of the undead. "How 'bout telepaths? You ever deal with a telepath before?"

"Deal with one?" Kraglin grimaces as he twists the pick deep between his gums. "Yeah, kid. I _dated_ one."

Peter, already leaning on his forearms, leans even closer in towards Kraglin. "What was that like? Did she ever plant weird things in your head?"

"Mmm, yeah..." Kraglin finally yanks the mystery object out of his mouth. "-Damned Scalluscs! Them shells are always gettin' stuck in my teeth!- Anywho. The telepath gal. Man _,_ was she hot! Real bonkers though. She only used her telepath-y stuff on me once I broke it off with her. Started projectin' herself to make sure I could see her, hopin' it would make me miss her and come back. So, I booked it from that crazy broad! She couldn't make me see nothin' else once I made good distance. That, or she just went 'n gave up. I don't rightly know."

Peter hums in thought. The Ravagers had been sure to hightail it off the planet where he'd encountered the Aedian both quickly and discreetly. They'd still been in the immediate aftermath of a big heist, after all. If proximity were indeed a factor, Peter's pretty sure there's no way the woman could have kept close enough by to be currently messing with him, but...

"Could she, uh... make you smell things? If she wanted to?"

" _Smell_ things? Heck if I know, Pete. Didn't stick around long enough to find out." Kraglin looks to him curiously. "What's with all the questions? You plannin' on askin' out a telepath or somethin'? Hopin' to get my blessing?"

Peter promptly tells him 'no', proceeding to randomly pick up the closest nearby object and chuck it straight at Kraglin, his unconventional way of distraction and putting an end to the conversation.

Because here is Peter's problem: of _course_ he'd like to know why he's hearing voices and smelling apple pie out of the blue. It's just that he's not stupid enough to go blabbing about his odd experiences to any of the gruff crew who, at best, would tell him that he's nuts.

Which, scarily enough, is a possibility.

Even if that Aedian he'd met were using some sort of telepathic abilities to mess with Peter, why call out for him in some random voice, and why dig up old, specific memories of his deceased mother? It didn't make any sense. Perhaps, when she'd touched him, she'd caused him to become unhinged? Maybe he's gone crazy all on his own, and had even imagined _her?_

He sighs. Whether he's being screwed with, haunted, or is simply going off the deep end, he can't know. And if he's not about to talk to anyone else about it, he really doesn't know what else there is to do besides wait. Wait and see.

A week goes by without incident and he lets himself hope that, perhaps, he's already seen the end of it.

* * *

It starts up again with the music.

He supposes that's fitting, really.

Peter's plopped himself down in a chair near Yondu, who is currently towering over his desk, sifting admiringly through a box of acquired treasures. "Hey, Yondu? Are toad-whales really a thing?"

It's been years since Peter has called Yondu 'sir' or 'Captain' outside of doing so because he's in trouble. And it's been nearly as long since Yondu's bothered to correct him for it. Just like now, when Yondu, rather than snappishly correcting Peter to address him by his title, merely quirks a brow. "What, now?"

" _Toad-whales_ ," Peter enunciates patiently, as if this were a totally normal topic of conversation, and Yondu simply hadn't heard him correctly. "Horuz was saying they can be caught and tamed to be ridden. I know he's usually full of shit but if he's right, wouldn't it be badass to have one? Oh, my God, it would be _totally_ badass. Let's go find one! Set the course!"

"Can't say I'm sure what in the flyin' fuck awhale-toad is, but no, we ain't gonna go find one. I've already gotta watch that _you_ don't up and piss everywhere." Yondu snickers at Peter's affronted look, ignoring his protest of "that was one time, I was ten!"

"'Sides, what are you still beggin' me for pets for, boy? You're fourteen, or whatever. Ain't you ready to be grown up and out of that phase yet?"

"Okay, one, I haven't been _fourteen_ for a solid five years now. Thanks for keeping up with that. And two, a toad-whale would hardly be a 'pet'." Peter kicks up his legs and spins nonchalantly around in his chair. "It would be a kickass companion for a kickass outlaw, such as myself."

"Yeah. Well. They sound obnoxious. And you're already annoyin' as all hell. I've got a migraine just thinkin' about it."

Peter sighs in defeat, leaning his head back against the chair to gaze lazily out at the blanket of stars.

That's when he notices that Yondu… is playing music.

 _Earth_ music.

 _"There's a port on a western bay, and it serves a hundred ships a day..."_

Peter perks up at this, listening with pleased interest. "Huh. Never thought I'd catch you voluntarily listening to Terran music in your free time. You hate mine!"

The audio starts to drone in and out, quieting itself before cranking up so loudly it sounds as though it'll burst the ship's speakers. Peter winces and tries to muffle his ears with his hands, looking to Yondu in bewilderment.

"Okay. Wherever you got this tape, it sucks. If you wanted some quality tunes, you could've just asked to play mine, y'know," Peter grouses, slumping down in his seat whilst gripping his ears.

If Yondu even hears Peter over the music, he ignores him; he's chewing idly on a pick, turning one of his trinkets over in his hand for examination, seemingly unbothered by the ear-shattering volume.

The song quiets down decently, but the quality is now extraordinarily garbled. Peter's head is starting to hurt with it. The screechy audio grates against his eardrums, knocking persistently at his temples.

"Ugh. Can you just turn it off?"

"Hm?" is all Yondu grunts. He still hasn't looked away from his treasures, but his forehead has scrunched up in absentminded irritation at the constant interruption that is Quill.

Peter opens up one eye, as he's been squeezing both shut in response to another particularly loud _screech_ in the track. The otherwise pleasant melody, with all it's choppiness and periods of distortion, is starting to give him the creeps. "Okay, dude, you're gonna tell me that doesn't drive you insane?"

Yondu tosses another figurine into his box, huffing at Peter. "What doesn't? The big, stupid Terran who won't get his yammerin' ass outta my copilot seat? He sure as hell _does."_

 _"There's a girl in this harbor town, and she works, laying whiskey down_ _…"_

"Ah. Ha-ha. I see. Real funny, old man," Peter rolls his eyes, once again resting his head to look up at the ceiling. Boy, does his head ache. "This is to get back at me for always blasting _my_ stuff, right?"

"Alright, boy, the hell are you on about?" Yondu crabs, his admittedly tiny reserve of patience gone. Peter lowers his head to glare at Yondu, equally frustrated, especially as the track begins to skip and stutter out the same line, over and over: " _He_ _came on a summers day, bringing gifts from far away..." "_ The _music_ , Yondu. The stupid song playing that, swear to God, is gonna make my head explode. Do you need me to spell it out more? What the heck else would I be 'on about'?"

Both men fall silent. Peter maintains his grumpy glare. Yondu looks genuinely, honestly confused as all get out, and a bit suspicious. He eyes the speaker above, brows pinched, tilting his head as if trying to hear something.

Finally he asks: "What song, Quill?"

The music is slowing itself down, now; the singers voice deepens and his words stretch out as though they're being pulled. The erratic beat times with the throbbing of Peter's head. Ice trickles up through his gut.

"The one you're playing, _right now_ , on that garbage tape," he tries again, weaker this time; his confidence is steadily taking a nosedive as it dawns on him what may be happening, here.

Yondu eyeballs Peter scrutinizingly, seemingly attuned to Peter's strange, sudden shift in demeanor. Any trace of the captain's previous irritation has vanished.

"I ain't playin' a garbage tape," Yondu says slowly. "I ain't playin' music, period."

He's not lying.

 _"And the sailors say; Brandy, you're a fine girl, what a good wife you would be_..."

"You- oh. You really don't hear it," Peter states meekly, his palms beginning to sweat even as the music is now fading away; quieter, quieter, and evermore into the background. Yondu's face is crinkled in a way that doesn't much hide concern.

 _"But_ _my life_ _, my lover, my lady..."_

"Boy? Talk to me. What exactly are you hearin' that I'm not?"

 _"... is the sea."_


	3. Hush

**AN:** Hi guys! I'm so, so sorry about the awful delay between updates! Nursing school is truly creativity sucking! But please let me know what you're enjoying about the story so far. :) Your comments and thoughts inspire me to get my writing butt back in gear!

* * *

 **Chapter 3** **: Hush**

Once, in the days where Peter was still a child fairly fresh aboard the _Eclector_ , the crew had made an impromptu pit stop shoreside after finding their ship in need of more than a few tune ups. Via his very loud, very annoying protests about never _ever_ getting to leave the stupid ship, Peter had been grudgingly allowed to tag along as Yondu headed into the marketplace to barter with local junk traders. It was here that they'd experienced an unexpected run-in with someone who'd seemed to Peter to be Yondu's boss.

Funny, because he'd always thought that _Yondu_ was the boss, but he'd kept his mouth shut. Even when he would've liked to gleefully point out the way Yondu practically shrunk under this man's scrutiny just as so many men shrunk under Yondu's.

Stakar something-or-other was clearly pissed at Yondu for reasons Peter couldn't quite make out- except that it seemed to have something to do with the sight of Peter himself. None of it made a whole lot of sense to him, especially as the men's conversation was clipped and full of things half-said, leaving Peter mostly in the dark.

It didn't help that Stakar and his merry men ended up calling for a private conversation with Yondu and Yondu alone.

Thus, here Peter waited. Plopped in the dirt outside of the Ravager's meeting building of choice, digging out of both boredom and- not that he'd ever admit it- nerves. Seeing Yondu be reduced to anything that resembled a kicked puppy had actually been sort of off-putting.

In the midst of his lackadaisical digging efforts, as the sun fell in the sky and the dirt around him cooled, he'd come across an oddly shaped rock. Out of curiosity (as there'd definitely been nothing _else_ to do for the better part of an hour now) he'd held it up to the sky for a closer look.

Light from the setting sun practically danced through the rock and, to Peter's awe, transformed it into a brilliant, translucent blue. Lines of scarlet swirled throughout.

The mystical rock twinkled down at him, and eight-year-old Peter marveled.

Yondu finally emerged and his presence was that of an ominous cloud. He'd sulked right past Peter without any acknowledgment to the boy. Peter had shot to his feet, shaken off dirt and wiped at his face with muddy hands, slipping his treasure of a find into his coat pocket. He'd practically had to gallop to keep up behind Yondu.

A silent Yondu rarely bode well for anybody. So Peter wisely chose to follow wordlessly, allowing Yondu the space to stew as they strode presumably back to their ship. Eventually, though, Peter's smaller legs grew tired of this dumb jog pace he was being forced to keep up.

"Yondu. _Yond-uuu._ Hold on a sec."

"It's 'Captain' to you, boy, and I'm tryin' to haul ass off this godforsaken planet, so you best _keep up_."

Peter picked up the pace to round in front of Yondu, attempting to gage the man's expression. "Wait, what happened? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"It don't concern you."

"But that one guy, Sticker- he was mad 'cause I was with you."

"Stakar," Yondu corrected with sudden bite. "A high standin' Ravager leader. Hell, one of the best we've got." His hand dipped to rummage around his pocket. Nonchalant as his movements were, his agitation was still betrayed by the way he wouldn't _stop_ moving. "Sir high 'n mighty just cut off his alignment with us."

"What? He did? 'Cause of _me?_ "

"No.Will you shut your yap?" But Peter could've sworn the captain's hand trembled as he brought a pick to his mouth. He had yet to look at Peter. "There are rules to bein' a Ravager, see. And I... went 'n broke one rule too many."

"Oh. Well," Yondu's odd behavior nearly stopped Peter from even asking, "what did you _do?"_

At last, Yondu slowed to a halt. Exhaled heavily through his nose.

"Y'know, you sure do ask a hell of a lot of questions," he finally drawled, straightening to his full height and narrowing his eyes down to Peter, "for some brat who should just be thankin' his lucky stars I haven't _eaten_ him yet." Yet, as his fingers rolled the pick through his jagged teeth, his hand shook once more. "I'll say it one last time, boy;it don't _concern you_."

Strange. Firstly, because Yondu's turmoil practically radiated off of him in waves, and Peter had yet to know the man to even remotely distress over anything that wasn't lost money. Secondly was that Yondu's 'I'll eat you' threat hadn't even scared Peter this time, and thirdly was the fact that Peter actually wanted to help him.

Yondu hadn't been kind to Peter. Not even by the shittiest of standards. But even still...

"Whatever it is you did... Can you fix it? Can I help?"

Yondu offered no answer. However, something about Peter's proposal seemed to pique his interest. He studied the child before him with a quiet curiosity.

Peter warily watched him back. Shadows fell across the captain's blue face, and they did him no favors; the creases created by his scowl were deepened, and every scar was pronounced. Crimson eyes glinted with the setting sun. Against the gloomy backdrop of the sky, with his jaw jutted and nostrils flared, he looked all the world like a gargoyle, or maybe a monster out of a children's book.

But- as had just brilliantly dawned upon Peter- he also looked exactly like something _elsen_.

Mama had taught him to always find ways to remind people that they were important. Especially when others had made them feel less than. Sure, he'd previously only applied her rule to bullied kids in his class, or to batty, lonely old neighbors of the Quill's, but he was certain it could also be applied to emotionally stunted pirates from space.

"YONDU!" the exclamation burst out of Peter, startling Yondu right out of his reverie. The child raised to his tiptoes and his hands shot out on impulse to grab the sides of the captain's face. Knowing this was practically an invitation for a quick death didn't stop him from absolutely beaming at his own brilliance. "Yondu, you're _just like it!_ "

The man in question had stiffened like a board under Peter's tiny, mud encrusted hands, looking two seconds away from ripping them off or hurling his arrow through Peter entirely. Miraculously, he didn't do either. Rather, while allowing the child's hold, face scrunched in a way that made him look constipated, he asked: "I'm jus' like _what?_ "

* * *

Currently, Peter's eyes have landed on the rock he'd so proudly presented to Yondu all those years ago. It sits atop the captain's desk discreetly among other items pulled from Yondu's 'box of treasures'.

Upon receiving Peter's incredibly thoughtful and well-meaning gift, the ungrateful asshole had called Peter 'kind of stupid' for comparing him to some rock he'd dug up. "But it's blue, with some red, and it doesn't look all that great 'til you squint at it a certain way. And it's sorta shaped like the Ravager symbol!" a disheartened Peter had insisted, letting go after holding the captain's head in the same manner he'd held his rock up to the sun. Yondu had countered that it was shaped more like a foot with a bunion, and was Peter really blind _and_ stupid? Kid was worthless for thieving if he couldn't see worth a damn; Yondu should have just let the crew eat him if that were the case; also, Peter would have stubs for hands if he ever tried grabbing the captain's face again; blah, blah, blah…

Needless to say, the fact that Yondu has made a point to hang onto the thing has Peter a tad confused.

His surprise at the sight of his comparatively crude, simplistic gift among the valued items of Yondu is fleeting in the face of more pressing matters at the moment, but still. It sparks the small hope that maybe Yondu does have some semblance of a heart, however malformed- at least enough to do more for Peter than just laugh in his face and write him off as insane.

" _Quill!_ Boy-o! Hell-oooo! You plannin' on answerin' sometime today?"

Oh, right, Yondu's asked him a question. With fingers snapping in his face. Peter blinks and straightens in his seat. "Hey there. Yeah, okay. So, ah... where to begin? The bar. You remember how we all went and partied at that bar on Moonteg about a week ago?"

"Yeah, Quill. Hard to forget you hurlin' your Terran dribble at me. What about it?"

Peter's currently too ridden with nerves to even react to the goad. "Something weird happened before all that."

"Mm. Weird how?"

Peter tries to begin explaining it all then but, God, does his head ache. A steady _t_ _hunk, thunk, thunk,_ as if someone is knocking for entrance into his head, which is pretty fitting, considering that it's soon followed by the voice:

 _"Hush, Peter… you must keep_ quiet _about all this."_

Peter clamps his mouth back shut.

 _"Oh, must I?"_ he replies mockingly within his own head. " _Says_ _who? Some faceless jerkwad who keeps dicking with me?"_ His heart speeds up at the chance to finally hold a conversation and get an answer or two. " _How about this, asshole- you start explaining who you are, and what the hell you've been doing inside my head, or I start talking."_

"Weird _how?_ " Yondu repeats, never one for patience, but Peter needs to ignore him for just _one_ more second in favor of hearing out this other voice.

 _"And I will. In fact, I have every answer I know you seek; answers that require more time to explain in full, and answers I can't give if Udonta is made aware. Just give me time, Peter, and in return, I promise to give you_ … everything."

Peter's ears loudly _pop._ The pressure in his head eases away, likely signaling the end of this 'conversation'. He's left blinking bewilderingly at Yondu, who has taken matters into his own hands by rising out of his seat to shake Peter roughly.

"Whoa, dude, I'm answering, I'm answering!" Peter protests. Yondu just barely backs off and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Are you, now? Then spit it on out! First you're flippin' your lid over some tune that ain't even playin', and next you're gapin' at me like you're all the sudden mute, blind 'n deaf." Yondu is staring at him like he's grown a second head. "More talkin', Quill. Less spacin'. The hell are you tryin'a tell me? What happened on Moonteg?"

Alright. Peter is going to have to make up his mind quickly and wisely before Yondu's short fuse officially reaches it's end. Employ for whatever aide Yondu may be able to offer (likely none) against a nameless voice inside Peter's head? Or give said voice the chance to hold up to its word and explain its presence?

Yondu is already being kind of a dick about the whole thing. And Peter supposes that, if it means he may get some answers, waiting this whole thing out just a tad longer probably won't _kill_ him. In a split-second he decides he'll run with his latter plan by playing the whole thing off.

"As I was saying, ye of little patience, I ended up downing some funky foreign drink that someone gave me at the bar. I don't think it mixed too well with Terran biology because it really messed me up," Peter lies. "I've been tripping out here and there ever since. Like I did just now. Plus, you know, I've usually got a gut of steel. So the funky drink probably explains why I blew chunks, too."

He's normally a master story fabricator. However, this is alsoveryon the spot. He makes his move to leave, deciding it's best to hit the road before Yondu can pry too much. "I'll go grab something from Doc to take and be good to go."

"You... wait, hold up, now," Yondu interrupts his departure. "Who gave you the drink?"

"I- dunno."

"Huh. So some random ass stranger shimmies on up to you, hands you somethin' 'funky and foreign', and your dumbass goes 'n gulps it down? No questions asked? What the hell, Quill! Do I really gotta go and give you the talk about ingestin' sketchy shit from people you ain't never met in your life?"

Peter would never have guessed this would lead to him getting the full blown third degree. "I didn't say I just took a swig from a total _rando_ ," he defends heatedly. Even knowing full well the scenario they're arguing over is fake, being reprimanded makes him feel all but thirteen again. "Even when I'm drunk I'm not that stupid. I know I got it from crew."

Yondu's mouth thins into a line and suddenly he's very quiet. "What?" Peter asks warily.

"Which crew, then?"

"I don't _know,_ Yondu," Peter replies in exasperation. "I don't remember. I was shitfaced."

The captain hums in thought. His demeanor shifts deceivingly into one that's relaxed; he lounges back and presses his fingers together. "I don't know what kind of weird ass spell you jus' had," he says passively, "but that weren't no reaction to alcohol from over a week ago. If your teeny Terran brain is still a shit show after all this time, then someone must've slipped you somethin' nasty, boy."

Yondu's playing it off like he doesn't care (well, actually, that's something he doesn't even have to pretend) but the captain is definitely convinced that someone in this crew has it out for Peter. Granted, Peter can be enough of a pain in the ass that he would be pleasantly surprised if one of them _doesn't,_ but still.

His little 'episode' must have been more alarming than Yondu is letting on. Normally this type of 'I drank something weird and am now tripping balls' scenario would likely just warrant the captain laughing cruelly at Peter, calling him a moron, and brushing it off to be dealt with by Doc. But Yondu doesn't seem to be willing to just drop it.

Peter supposes Yondu's never well put up with crew pulling that sort of crap on eachother. He's likely to go and make some 'inquiries' over the entire thing. Peter may strongly dislike a large portion of this ugly, vulgar crew, but it still makes him feel the tiniest bit guilty about lying.

The entity in his head had better come through with its promises.

"Yeah. Seems like it. Well, I'm goin' to Doc, then," Peter sighs, turning away in the hopes of finally getting to leave. "We'll see if he can fix whatever's going on."

"Hmph. You ain't comin' with tomorrow unless he tells you you're cleared to. You're no good to us pullin' that freaky, spacey crap." Yondu pauses. "Quill. There anythin' else I ought to know?"

"Nope," Peter says without looking back. "Nothin'."

He can't tell the truth until he knows it himself, anyway.

* * *

So. Peter had mentioned that enduring his hallucinatory experiences for a little longer probably _wouldn't_ get him killed?

Rarely as he has to admit this, he may have been wrong.

"Hi, baby," breathes Meredith Quill, tears in her green eyes and smile wide as it is beautiful.

It's the morning after the music incident and Peter, along with a handful of Ravagers, has been trudging along a narrow path that wraps up and around a spectacular mountain. They're here to collect a rare type of crystal that doubles as a valuable power source. It's rumored to rest along the sides and atop the mountain, and crew has split off into small groups in order to carry away as much as possible. Also because they expect the natives, if encountered, to be a highly aggressive and territorial race.

Peter can handle all that. Piece of freaking cake. What he's not so sure he can handle is his mother's ghost, standing at the cliff's edge, reaching for him just as she'd done moments before death.

"Mom," Peter chokes, trying to say more while simultaneously not stumble over his own feet- it's all very difficult because his surroundings are blurring, are dripping away like rain, along with any coherency to his thoughts. Within seconds he's forgotten the mountain; the crew's confused inquiries are muted; all he sees, all he knows, is his mother. And he needs to take her hand.

This becomes fairly problematic when it turns out that Meredith Quill is not actually there, and all Peter has managed to do is dazedly sidestep right off of the cliff.

He is tumbling, falling, tumbling, falling... gone, before he even hits the water below.


	4. Where the river meets the sea

**Chapter 4** **: Where the river meets the sea**

Yeah, Yondu had kept the stupid rock.

The comparison _had_ been cheesy as all hell and he'd been sure to let Quill know it. Kid wasn't gonna survive long in this universe if he were to continue wearing his weepy sentimentality so damn brazenly on his sleeve.

Quill had been mostly unaware of what had just taken place beforehand, what with Yondu's old crew crowding him and calling vehemently for his exile. Yondu had tried everything to have his case heard- intimidation, force, and finally plain old sincerity. He'd even looked to his practically surrogate father and, stifling down his pride in a way he hadn't done since slavery, he'd _begged_. But Stakar would not be moved. The older man's face had twisted with a multitude of things, mainly disappointment, as he'd declared Yondu unworthy.

Disgusted remarks were thrown at Yondu's back as he made his leave. Nothing he hadn't already told himself.

From this feeling of near suffocation, he'd walked outside to breathe in both fresh air and the sight of a child. Quill had asked if _he_ could help _Yondu_ (and that was so ironic, so dumb, so aggravatingly naïve on the kid's part that Yondu could've bust his gut laughing right there) but Yondu wasn't about to go and tell the kid why his trust was so badly misplaced. Because no, Yondu could not be helped, but regardless, he was still Quill's safest option. Also because Quill's gap toothed and dirt streaked face was beaming up at Yondu as if the sun suddenly shone out the man's ass.

The whole thing had given Yondu a weird, constricted feeling in his chest that he'd brushed off as bad indigestion.

So, yeah, he'd kept the rock. And if anyone asked, it was because it _did_ look kind of cool.

Whispers of mutiny were sure to stir if anyone began to think otherwise. He'd made it clear in the early days that his particularly watchful eye over Quill was strictly a courtesy to ensure the child had at least a _chance_ at survival. Kid has just been a scrawny and sappy runt, after all. Hopeless little bugger. Nevermind that Quill is practically a grown man, now; all tree trunk limbs with a barreled chest and ginger scruff. Still sappier than shit, but he's bigger and taller than Yondu, with the occasional clumsiness that betrays he's still adapting to steering this large a body.

(What he doesn't know is that one day, Peter will be thirty-four years old and a little less clumsy, ever more charismatic and utterly capable- and it still won't be enough to kick Yondu's nagging, hindersome need to be his protecting shadow.)

Granted, Quill's still creative as ever when it comes to finding new ways to give him stress ulcers. Kid's a walking beacon for trouble.

Take now, for instance.

"Cap'n?" Tullk grabs his shoulder with urgency, pointing past Yondu's head. "Is that Quill there who just took a header?"

Yondu turns and, sure enough, there's an unmistakably familiar figure tumbling down from a distance that doesn't look one bit survivable, hitting every bump and rock along the way.

"Thought we agreed you _weren't_ gonna be a pain in my ass today, boy," Yondu gripes, all while whipping his jacket aside and giving a hasty whistle.

* * *

Peter dreams.

He is sprawled out on golden sands, watching a sky where the stars and surrounding planets are brightly visible, even in the light of day. The sea laid before him is turquoise and vast, twinkling and quiet.

It's beautiful here. But something is missing.

Peter's never been able to leave this shore. For the life of him, he can't remember why.

The sand beneath him is sun-kissed and warm; the smells of ship oil, bike leather and smoke all linger in the air. This place isn't perfect, but it's familiar, and it's safe.

Still, he's been wistfully watching the sea for who knows how long. He wants nothing more than to leave to it because he knows, just _knows_ , he's meant for something bigger and better than here.

Like an answer to unspoken prayers he's held all his life, a small boat appears in the distance. He can just barely make out the silhouette of a faceless man. "Peter! _Peter!_ " the man on the sea calls cheerfully, beckoningly. "Come and join me. Join me at last, my boy. The water is just _fine_."

The stranger's right. The water is calm and inviting, surely no more dangerous than what probably lurks on this island. So what on earth has Peter been waiting for? Overjoyed at finally having received an invitation to leave, he scrambles to his feet. His confinement has come to an end! He kicks off his boots and sheds his outer layer of clothing, taking his first step into the ocean-

* * *

-the _smack_ of his landing and the chill of the river hit him at once, and he greets consciousness with a nice, big inhale of water.

Peter is pulled under and into the river's current, whipped around this way and that for what seems like forever, but is thankfully no more than fifteen seconds. At some point he feels a sharp tug at the nape of his jacket. Peter is forcefully yanked upwards, out of the water, and into frigid air. Dazedly, he thinks that this is what a fish must feel like as it's reeled in by a fisherman. He soars for several moments before being dropped unceremoniously onto the dirt.

A flash of red darts past his line of sight. Sluggishly, he tries to follow where it's leaving to, but the world flip-flops when he turns his head.

Peter doesn't know exactly how much time has passed before he feels hands on his chest, his neck, his face, and then he's shoved roughly onto his side. Something solid beats relentlessly at his back until he's coughing up water he'd forgotten he'd swallowed. As he's rolled onto his back, he blinks languidly up at something hovering over him, something even bluer than the sky.

"I-I really don't know _what_ happened, boss," someone is saying when he awakens (when had he even fallen asleep?) and their voice is panicked and tight, as though they're being gripped at the collar. "I swear, we didn' push him! No one pushed him!"

"No one pushed him, huh? Then how'd he _end up in the river?_ " a voice hisses. "Quill here just up 'n decided to waltz right off the tippy top of the cliff himself?"

"Y-yeah. I mean, not 'waltz', but he did fall," the panicky one squeaks. "Looked like he got dizzy or somethin'. He started stumblin' to one side 'n fell before any of us could grab at 'im."

"It's true, Cap'n," another one pipes up from the back, and Peter can practically _hear_ them cower at the way Yondu must have rounded on them. "Seemed like he suddenly got real confused, or somethin'. An', well, you've seen how clumsy he can be-"

Silence follows a quick whistle. A warning.

"I s'pose none of you were the ones that slipped him the gnarly shit back at the bar, either, huh?" Yondu is snarling and boy, even through his haze, Peter can tell he's ticked. "One of you been tryin' to off Mr. Quill here? Right under my fuckin' nose? 'Cause you boys _know_ only one man on this ship decides who lives 'n who dies- that's _me_."

"He's alive? How in the world did he not break his neck?" a voice that sounds like Tullk asks quizzically in the background. "Quill's gotta be the luckiest unlucky bastard I've ever met."

Peter's out again before he can vocalize his disagreement with the 'lucky' part.

* * *

The next time he's lucid enough to piece together anything going on around him, he's in the _Eclector's_ med bay. The room is dim, but he's had enough visits to recognize the hard cot, the stiff sheets that smell too strongly of cleaning chemicals, and the _whirr_ of the few medical monitors they've bothered to own.

"He did stop by last night, Captain," Peter can make out the puzzled voice of Doc, "but just to grab a pill for his headaches. Said he was told it'd clear him for today's mission."

"I wouldn't've needed him cleared for a _headache_. You tellin' me he didn't mention how he's been hallucinatin' since Moonteg? That he's been hearin' shit that ain't really there? None of that?"

Looks like Peter hasn't been here for very long, seeing as Yondu is still hanging around and asking questions. The Ravager captain looks… annoyed, to say the least, chewing away at his pick until it's a nub. Doc just looks perplexed.

Peter blinks to clear his bleary vision until it reveals a fourth presence in the room. One that easily pulls his attention away from the current conversation.

Meredith Quill reaches out to touch his face. One corner of her mouth lifts into a gentle smile. "It's alright, baby," she whispers, soft as a lullaby. But her touch is faint where he remembers it warm. As if she's barely there. "I'm here."

Peter weakly reaches up to take her hand- only to be met with air. _No,_ he decides sadly. _Y_ _ou're not._

* * *

Peter dreams again (or maybe he never stopped?) and the water couldn't be more perfect. Even in his treasured memories of beach trips as a child, the water had always been too cold. He laughs in rising joy. Not once is he tempted to look over his shoulder back at what he's left behind. His sights are set to the horizon, to the man who's offered him freedom at no price, to the man with kind eyes. His features are slowly becoming distinguishable as Peter gets nearer.

"Atta boy, Peter!" the man in question calls out. "Come on, now." Though he's still a ways ahead, he extends an arm out to Peter. "Almost here. You're almost here."

* * *

Both Yondu and Doc are gone the next time Peter comes to. He is alone with the soft noise of machines, and the crunch of crusty sheets as he shifts around in his discomfort. He gives his body a quick once over: he's sore from head to toe. His head feels heavy as a brick and his focus is fleeting. He's pretty sure a few bones are broken.

So, overall, not too shabby. Considering he just fell off a cliff and all.

He's about to close his eyes again, perhaps try and contemplate what the actual hell had led up to his current predicament, when a man he's never seen in his life appears at the foot of his bed.

"AGH!" Peter roars like a god ready for war (okay, it's more of a squeak; but Peter is nineteen and a famous outlaw, now, so he'd rather leave out the details that threaten his hard-earned reputation of badassery) because not only has a dude just appeared out of thin air, said dude is smiling down at him like a totalcreep. Peter quickly hoists himself up on his elbows, releasing a pained 'whoosh' of air in surprise with the movement because, yep, that is one broken collarbone. Along with a rib or three.

The man remains still as a statue, his eyes trained on Peter. "You can see me, then."

"Um, yeah, kind of hard to miss you looming over my bed there, you freak."

"Finally," the man breathes out, face illuminated with a pleased smile as he moves to Peter's side.

Peter doesn't care; broken bones or no, he rolls right off the opposite side of the cot and hits the ground with a yelp. "Hey! Someone, get in here! Some whack job snuck onto the ship!" Peter hollers out, struggling to get up to his feet, glancing around for anything he might grab as a weapon. The man's boots stop in front of his face and a hand places itself on Peter's head- a gesture that's meant to be soothing.

"Calm down, Peter; they won't be able to see me. They can't hear me, either. I'm here for you and you only."

"What- what do you mean? Are _you_ just in my head, too?" Peter demands, right as his breath hitches with sudden realization. _That voice._

The man's touch, unlike Meredith's, is warm.

"In a sense. But that hardly means this isn't real. Here, now- all this time I've spent with you while being unable to properly introduce myself. My name is Ego."

When all this prompts is a blank stare out of Peter, 'Ego' smiles warmly, holding out his hands in a placating manner.

"My name is Ego… and I'm your dad, Peter."


	5. And the stars look very different today

**AN:** You all have the patience of saints and I thank everyone who has stayed along for the ride with this story! Thank you for reading, and thank you x1000 for reviewing! Hope you're enjoying!

* * *

 **Chapter 5** **: And the stars look very different today**

"You're- _what?_ " is all Peter manages, rising to his feet with some difficulty before leaning his weight back against the med bed. He eyes the man before him apprehensively. "That doesn't make any sense. You tried to _kill_ me."

"I didn't," Ego counters, not unkindly. He's a handsome man and one of great importance, if his adornment of intricate armor and a regal looking cape are anything to go off of. The image only baffles Peter all the more. "I apologize for your fall, Peter- it was never my intention to harm you. For the past several days I've been simply trying to connect with you. Speaking to you directly, however, has proven more difficult than I'd hoped. The glimpses you've seen of Meredith... well, she's one of the many things we share, you and I. I suppose our collective mind decided that her memory was a good common ground."

"Collective mind...? Alright. And here I was worrying that I've lost my shit. Glad to see that's clearly not the case," Peter mutters.

"I'm sorry this process has taken such a toll on you, son; but rest assured, this is all very much real."

"Yeah. That'll sure help me sleep tonight. I don't know what planet you're from, but it ain't normal for me to start seeing my mother out of the blue because she's _dead_ ," Peter says heatedly. "She's been dead over ten years. Seriously, there weren't any slightly less creepy ways to get in touch? You couldn't just meet me, like, normally?"

Ego sighs. "To keep things simple for the moment... no. For more reasons than one, I _couldn't_ just meet with you. That's why I hired the Aedian- the one you encountered on Moonteg." His hands are clasped easily behind his back and he's maintained a respectful distance from Peter. Probably for the best, as Peter hasn't yet 100% dropped the notion of fighting him. "She holds special talents that have allowed us this 'bridge', so to speak. Though I haven't had much control over when or where we connect because.. it's an iffy business, linking consciousnesses. Harder than you'd think."

Ego locks earnest eyes with Peter. "But you're not imagining this, my boy. Your mind has simply been bound to my own. And I'm here, now. I'm _here_."

Peter's mother had always said that his father was an angel, composed out of pure light. That he was a busy man, one burdened with the duty of ruling over all the stars; but when time allowed for it, she'd said, he'd be back to retrieve Peter.

Ego is currently looking Peter over with what looks like the fondest of pride.

" _You're_ my father," Peter clarifies. The title tumbles awkwardly out his mouth.

Ego doesn't seem to notice. His smile is genuine and it lights his entire face. "In the flesh. Well, so to speak."

A war of emotions stirs within Peter but anger is the first to reach the surface. "Why now? What do you want from me _now?_ I _waited_ for you. What stopped you from coming earlier?"

"Peter, I have been looking for you for _years_. Ever since your mother passed. But certain factors haven't exactly made it easy for me."

Peter's head spins. Most likely from the concussion. But the situation definitely isn't helping.

"Look, I just... I don't know how I'm supposed to take all this right now."

"Smart lad. I can't fault you for being skeptical," Ego nods his approval. "You'll need proof, of course. We've only just met and have much to discuss. I never expected you to accept this all in one go."

Footsteps are heard coming from down the hall leading to the med bay. Ego begins to back away from Peter. "Think on it, Peter," he implores, tapping a finger to his own temple. "I'm happy to answer all your questions soon. I'll never be far. Go somewhere tonight where we can talk- alone. Don't want the others thinking you're crazy, now, do we?"

"A little late for that," Peter murmurs. But he doesn't refuse the offer.

The door to the med bay swings open. "Look who's up 'n walkin'. Mornin', Princess Pete," Kraglin greets casually. He pauses, taking in Peter's wary stance against the bed with some amusement. "What's up? You look like you just saw one of them 'ghosts'."

Ego, indeed unseen and unheard by Kraglin, winks playfully as he steps into the shadows cast in the room. They're larger than Peter remembers.

"No ghosts here, son," Ego assures before the darkness swallows him whole. "I am very much alive."

* * *

"I'm _positive_ , man. I got dizzy, I lost my footing and I fell. It was a stupid accident," Peter says. He shifts in his seat, trying not to mess with the sling put on to allow his broken clavicle to heal. "I don't see why you think I'd cover for any of those morons, anyway. Pretty sure I'd be happy enough to rat on someone who pushed me down a freakin' mountain."

Yondu pinches the bridge of his nose tightly. The guy's been doing that an awful lot lately. "You _said_ someone slipped you somethin' on Moonteg. Them boys were _with us_ on Moonteg. A week later and your neck is nearly snapped after workin' alongside those same boys. Plus, most of this crew don't like you none, boy. It don't take a genius to put two 'n two together."

Peter sighs out loudly and dramatically as if this has been the longest conversation he's ever partaken in. His half-assed lie has made things unnecessarily difficult. He attempts to put an end to it all with an equally half-assed lie. "Honestly? I don't think any of them 'slipped' me anything in the first place. I'm pretty sure I remember it being a girl. A random girl at the bar gave me that drink. Maybe she's a sadist? Maybe she takes offense to handsome Terrans? Who knows, really. Not like I'll ever see her again, anyway."

"What?! Stars help me, Quill. Why in the blazin' hell did I go and waste precious time inquirin' all these idiots, then?"

"I didn't ask you to do that," Peter replies, incredulous. " _I_ never said any of the crew was out to kill me. That entire drastic jump to the worst possible conclusion was all you, you paranoid maniac."

"You didn't have to say nothin'. You've got the self-preservation instincts of a wee, blind baby slug. So I had to infer it for myself with what you gave me. Which was pure horseshit, apparently," Yondu glares grumpily down at Peter.

Yondu definitely doesn't even know what a horse is- much less what their shits are like. He's picked up that phrase up from Peter. Come to think of it, Peter's never received his well-earned credit for bringing so many colorful new Terran additions to this nasty-ass gang of pirates' speak.

"I'm sorry, okay? I honestly didn't remember before. I only remembered her after I hit my head."

"That ain't how concussions work. That there's the _opposite_ of how concussions work."

"Whatever. I don't know the science behind it. All I know is that's how it worked for me." He tries to end all questioning there and then. "'Besides, I do feel better. Inside my head, I mean. I haven't been hallucinating or anything anymore."

Yondu simply watches him for a long moment. Long enough to make Peter squirm a bit. "Doc did a couple of tests," the captain says finally with a sniff. "Nothin' looked outta sorts. No traces of weird drugs swimmin' 'round your system. No signs of poison." His eyes narrow at Peter. "What I wanna know is why you didn't tell him what was goin' on with you. He was _supposed_ to clear your spacey ass for that mission."

Peter opts to play plain old dumb, here. "I dunno," he shrugs. "It was embarrassing."

Yondu gives a long suffering sigh, rolling his eyes heavenward as he places hands on his knees to boost himself to standing. "No more embarrassin' than faintin' yourself off the top of a mountain like a damn girl. Fuckin' princess." But he seems to well enough accept Peter's word that his withholding information from Doc was simply some dumb, teenage method of protecting his own bravado. "Whatever. You say you're fine, then you're fine. But hear this, brat; you cost me _good money_ by bein' pulled out of that mission early. Could've carried away more crystals, but instead, we got stuck carryin' your lard ass. Anythin' like that happens again and you're bein' bunked next to Taserface. And you're pickin' all them cute li'l bugs out of Halfnut's hair. Both for life! Kapeesh?"

"Ew and _ew_ ," Peter gags theatrically. He doesn't loathe anyone on this ship more than he does Taserface. And Halfnut is the greasiest bastard to ever set foot on the _Eclector_. "Mercy, old man."

For whatever reason, that sends Yondu cackling. "Aw, boy, I got me plenty of mercy. Mercy that'd make the gods green with envy. Any of them would've struck you down with lightnin' years ago." He eyeballs Peter's sling and bruises pointedly. "More trouble than you've ever been worth, Quill."

* * *

Peter waits until just before midnight to make his way up to the 'stargazing' port of the ship. At least, that's what he calls it. An empty room, minus some storage boxes, that has some of the best window views on the ship. No one's ever seemed to use it. No one except him, usually as a place to hide away once he'd grown too large to squeeze himself into the ships vents any longer.

Quietly as he can, he heads up metallic steps to find Ego waiting for him as promised. The man sits cross-legged as he observes the sky before them.

"I haven't had the chance to leave home in awhile," Ego says as Peter stops uncertainly somewhere behind him. "Beautiful, isn't it? The complexity of space. Yet, the simplicity. The ways in which it's able to make us feel simultaneously in awe and utterly... small. Alone."

Peter clears his throat. Suddenly he's feeling much more nervous than he'd realized about this whole thing. "Why haven't you been able to leave your home?"

"I'd be happy to show you it one day," Ego says, "my planet. I grow weaker when I leave it. If I were to try and stay away too long, an important part of me would die away."

"Which is... why we're talking this way, instead, right? Inside my head?"

Ego looks to him apologetically. "It wasn't my intention to frighten you. Certainly not to make you question your sanity. But, yes; I hired Yarit- the Aedian- to seek you out so that she could connect us this way. This gives me the chance to speak with you, to finally get to know you, while technically allowing me to remain on my planet. Yondu hasn't exactly made it easy for me to physically find you. Moves you around too much."

His face darkens as he turns back to the sky. "He was one of my hires, as well. Eleven years ago. I asked him to pick you up from Earth, to bring you to me once your mother passed, and he never did. I haven't a clue why he backed out on our deal."

Yondu.

So Yondu had known?

Peter's asked about his father no more than twice since his arrival on the _Eclector_.

And- if everything Ego is saying is true- then Yondu had fucking _known_.

The first inquiry had been between Peter's tears and hollers as he'd been dragged against his fighting will onto the ship. He'd taken one look at the captain before him and, even as the man was blue with a crooked grin that matched Peter's none, he'd asked if he was his father. (Really, what was Peter supposed to think, then? It had been mere minutes since his mother had promised that his dad, the _space man_ of all things, was coming to pick him up.) The notion had been shut down immediately by harsh, mocking laughter from the men all around. Peter's only response was to knee one of his captors in the balls and bite right through another one's hand. He'd then run off to discover just how well he could fit himself into the vents of the ship.

That was as well as his first few weeks had gone. For days straight he'd yelled, yelled, yelled until he was blue in the face. Wailed for his mother. Screamed at the crew when they taunted him, when they dared reach for his Walkman. Cursed Yondu with everything he had; Yondu, who could never be bothered to give a good enough reason as to why he'd snatched Peter from home before his mother's body could even go cold.

Eventually, these days met their end. As did Peter's constant yelling. In their place began his many, many questions.

One of them being Peter's final father related inquiry: "Is my dad ever coming to get me?"

Yondu hadn't even spared Peter a glance as he'd polished up his latest gun. "You finally quit your bellerin', and now you're gonna waste all that extra breath by askin' me stupid questions? I don't know a thing 'bout your daddy."

"It's _not_ stupid," Peter had insisted fiercely. He'd straightened himself to his full height, all four feet and two inches of it. This had been during a short period of time when, after he'd lost his mother to it, Peter did not fear death. Death would have allowed him to be with her again.

This very brief period meant that, likewise, he did not fear Yondu.

"My mama told me all about him. Told me he's king of the stars. And that he's comin' for me any day, now."

Yondu had laughed, loud and ugly, the sound ringing in Peter's ears until he felt steam coming out of them. "King of the stars, eh? Didn't know them balls of gas needed _rulin_ ' over _._ Sounds like your mama liked to spin up fancy tales."

"No." Peter wouldn't rise to the bait. Plenty of people had called Mom crazy before she'd died. But the stories of his father were ones she'd told Peter long before she'd ever gotten sick. "She wouldn't have made that up."

"Uh huh. Alright. King of the fuckin' stars, then. If that's true, then he sounds like an important man. _Busy_. Too important and too busy to want you none."

"What do you know?" Peter had countered, balling up his tiny fists. No matter that this type of lip had already gotten him pummeled more than a few times already. "Just because _you_ don't give a crap doesn't mean my dad doesn't, either." Yondu, infuriatingly, kept on polishing his gun as if Peter was nothing more than bothersome background noise. "Know what? Nevermind. I don't have to prove anything to you, you stupid, old blue _jerk._ You'll see when he gets here. You'll see how much he _does_ want me once he takes me away from _you_."

He must have said something right (or, perhaps, something very wrong). Because Yondu had set aside his gun, then, sauntering over to crouch down before Peter until he was eye level. With one finger he'd snagged the front of Peter's tattered, grease stained shirt and yanked him forward until they were practically nose to nose. His breath had hit Peter's face, hot and putrid, heavy with those strange orange cigars he liked to smoke whenever they stopped planetside.

"You want the truth so bad, you lippy, Terran runt? Here's your truth," he'd rasped, his mocking mood having dissipated into one more grave. "Turns out I _do_ know one thing 'bout your daddy. Wherever- and whoever- he is, he don't give a fuck about you. Not one. Ain't _no one_ comin' for you. Not him. Not no 'king of the stars'. Not your dead mama or her fancy stories, neither." He'd reiterated this with a shake of Peter's shirt. "We're it. We're what came for you. _We_ picked you up. And you? You're gonna quit your useless daydreamin' over shit that ain't ever gonna come to pass. _Got it?_ "

He'd ended this pep talk of the year by lazily releasing Peter and giving him a too-hard pat on the shoulder. More of a push, really, one that nearly knocked Peter right over. As if he'd just done the child some huge favor.

Peter had clearly been unable to hide the hatred from his face. He'll never forget Yondu's strange grin at the sight of it. Not a happy look; just his nasty set of teeth, yellow mixed with gold, all bared down at Peter, who was assuredly tomato red with rage. "Hate me, do ya?" Yondu's approving smirk had left Peter confused more than anything. "There are better things out there to hate. You'll learn that. But I'm as good a place as any to start." He hocked a massive loogie that landed itself next to Peter's left sneaker. "Go on, boy. Go on 'n hate me all you damn well _like._ "

And he had. In moments such as those, he'd come to hate Yondu almost more than anyone and anything else.

Sometimes, he still does. Certainly not always. Definitely not as ferociously as he'd done in his first few weeks aboard the ship. Now, instead, it's something more deeply festered, something much quieter. More of a simmering resentment.

But that older, fiercer feeling awakens a bit as he answers Ego in the present. The words are ones he's said before, but they suddenly taste more bitter than ever: "I can guess. I was a small, skinny kid, and I could fit in places other crew couldn't. I was a kickass little thief. I helped earn him a profit."

That selfish, lying jackass _had_ _known_.

Ego shakes his head in Peter's shared disbelief that someone would willingly keep a child from their parent for such a reason. Peter temporarily pushes his asshole of a captain from mind and takes this chance to look at Ego for a bit. _Really_ look at him.

He almost reminds Peter of a younger Santa Claus; friendly faced and bearded with twinkling blue eyes. Nothing about his appearance screams 'threat', but a part of Peter remains stubbornly guarded nonetheless. "I've gotta ask- how exactly am I supposed to trust that you weren't trying to kill me earlier? And that you're not just going to try again?"

"Oh, Peter," Ego says, rising to his feet to face him fully. "You should know that I'm no ordinary man. And that means neither are you. We're Celestials. If I wanted to kill you... well, I certainly wouldn't have sent you tumbling down a cliff! You're immortal, son."

Peter blinks once. Twice. "Celestials? So... like, _gods?_ "

Ego chuckles at Peter's mixed state, somewhere between rising excitement and lingering doubt. "I'll prove it," he declares, striding over until he's face to face with Peter. Something hopeful flits across the man's face. "I'm not entirely certain this will work here," he muses, taking Peter's one hand free from the sling, turning it gently so that it's palm is up. Peter, other than involuntarily stiffening a bit, allows it. "But lets test the strength of this link of ours. I'm going to have you try something. Something simple. Close your eyes, son; I'll need you to concentrate."

Peter, making the reluctant decision to trust, obeys and closes his eyes.

"Breathe. Focus your energy on this connection we have."

Vague. But he gives it a try, anyways. Focuses on the feel of Ego's hand under his own.

Long moments later and Peter can feel it; a hint of the same sensation as when the Aedian woman had touched his face. The electricity trickling down to shoot through his fingertips and toes. Images of colorful planets flash before him; each of them circle around him, and the stars are so close he could reach out and touch them. The abruptness of it all causes him to jump in surprise and his eyes snap open to see, in his outstretched hand, the smallest of blue sparks.

Tiny. But it's blue glows brightly enough to entirely illuminate the delight on Ego's face.

"Peter," he breathes, and if he'd looked at Peter with pride before, now he looks as though he'll absolutely burst with it. His grip on Peter's hand tightens ever so slightly. "It is _so good_ to have found you."


End file.
